Waiting for the Fall
by ashby
Summary: All around them, the world is falling, and all they can do is wait for the fall. Hermione's forced to hide at the Burrow after her sixth year, but things between her and Ron are strained. Harry's in hiding with no means of communication with the pair.
1. Default Chapter

A/N: This is just the start of something new I got inspired for. Please tell me what you think! I really hope you guys like it!  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one.  
  
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"Ginny, please make sure Hermione gets up and eats something." Molly Weasley looked uneasily at the brown-haired girl who was curled under several blankets in her only daughter's bed.  
  
Little did she know that Hermione was awake behind her closed lids. She'd been pretending to be asleep a lot lately, mainly because she didn't want to see the pitying looks that Mrs. Weasley and Ginny kept shooting her way. Not that she didn't appreciate everything they were doing for- she did, very much. It was just that she didn't want their sympathy.  
  
She was sick of Mrs. Weasley having to play surrogate mother to yet another child. It wasn't fair to her, and yet she did it willingly. And Hermione was grateful.  
  
But she wanted her own mother.  
  
It had been nearly a year since she'd last seen her parents. Last July to be exact. July was the month that Dumbledore had written her parents and asked if it would be alright if Hermione were to be transported to a "safer living condition."  
  
Namely the Weasley household.  
  
It had been fine the summer before. She'd understood why she needed to go. An all wizarding house would be much safer than the Muggle one she was living in- both for herself and her parents. She was in enough danger as it was being Harry Potter's best friend, but she was a target for another reason as well- she was Muggle-born, and Muggle-borns were the least safe of anyone.  
  
So, she'd gone willingly, kissed her parents good-bye and told them she'd see them at Christmas. Christmas had come, though, and she was forbidden to leave the school. Oh, well. Easter then. But Easter, too, had come, and she'd once again been forbidden to leave the castle. And then summer had come, and while she couldn't stay at the school, she was forbidden to return to her parents. So, she'd gone straight home with the Weasleys at the end of the sixth year term.  
  
She'd been there for about a month now, and she was miserable.  
  
She missed her parents more than she'd ever have thought possible. They hadn't even been permitted to visit her, nor had she been able to even pay them a weekend visit. They owled her occasionally, but not as often as she would have liked because there was such a great danger that the owls could be intercepted and her hiding place discovered.  
  
Hermione, though, thought that it was a bit odd that her hiding place hadn't already been discovered. The Dark Side wasn't stupid. They knew exactly who Harry Potter's best friends were, and Hermione really couldn't see what was so safe about hiding his two best friends together- at one of their houses nonetheless.  
  
This thought, of course, brought her to think of another person.  
  
Ron Weasley.  
  
He was, as stated, Harry Potter's other best friend. Supposedly, he was her other best friend, too. But ever since they'd first met each other on their first day of school, they'd had their questionable moments. They were known for loud, angry rows, and to say that they were always on the best of terms with each other would be a downright lie. Somehow, though, they'd managed to stay best friends through it all, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione made an ideal trio.  
  
But now… Now, Hermione didn't know what to think.  
  
This summer things had been totally different. She wasn't fighting with Ron like normal. She wasn't even speaking to Ron. Well, they spoke sometimes, of course; it was inevitable. There was the occasional, "Please pass the butter," at the table, or even the random, "Have you finished your History of Magic essay?" But it wasn't as if they spent time together talking and laughing like normal best friends.  
  
And Hermione knew exactly the reason why.  
  
Harry.  
  
They were both straining to pretend that nothing was wrong- that Harry was safe, and so were they. But they both knew deep down that they were lying. Harry wasn't safe, and neither were they. The hardest thing of all, though, was the fact that they couldn't even check up on their best friend. He was in hiding somewhere with his godfather, but the only person who knew their whereabouts was the Headmaster of their school. And he certainly wasn't telling anyone- not even Ron and Hermione.  
  
They had absolutely no way of communicating with him at all. Any and all owls to him were absolutely and strictly forbidden. Ron and Hermione had already gotten strong lectures from not only Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but they, along with Harry, had received the same instructions from Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall before they'd left school at the end of sixth year. Any attempts of communication between the pair of them and Harry was absolutely forbidden- no exceptions.  
  
Hermione missed him terribly. She was worried to death, and she was sick of pretending like everything was just fine.  
  
Everything wasn't fine.  
  
She knew without a doubt that their seventh year would hold more horrors than all the others put together. She'd already witnessed more than her share of terrifying incidents, and she was growing more and more fearful of her future. So far, miraculously, she'd managed to get out of everything unscathed, and so had everyone she cared about.  
  
Some of her classmates hadn't been so lucky, though. She'd watched helplessly as Dennis and Colin Creevey had been sent home because their older brother had been murdered. She'd seen Justin Finch-Fletchley crying because his mother had been attacked and left for dead. She'd watched classmate after classmate collapsing with grief over a loved one's demise.  
  
But so far, it hadn't hit her directly.  
  
She was just waiting, though. Waiting and waiting for the inevitable news that someone close to her had fallen to the Dark Side. She prayed that it wouldn't be her parents. Sometimes it scared her that they hadn't gotten to her family; surely, they could track them down if they wanted to. It was almost as if they were just waiting for the right moment to hit her and hit her hard. Perhaps, they knew that she spent all her time worrying and they drew pleasure from that knowledge.  
  
But soon. Soon someone she loved was going to be hit. And she had no way of stopping it.  
  
She heard Mrs. Weasley leave the room, and she kept her eyes closed until she heard Ginny finish dressing and exit the room as well. When she knew that she was alone, she finally allowed herself to open her eyes and glance around the now deserted bedroom.  
  
She was used to it by now. She'd spent so much time in it that she knew it as well as she knew her own bedroom at her own house. The bedroom she missed so much. This one at the Burrow absolutely screamed Ginny. It was so different from her own room; this one was so girly and flowery. It's color scheme was quite naturally pink and purple. It was so cheery.  
  
Cheery. Something Hermione feared she would never be again.  
  
Sighing, she slowly got out of the bed and made her way to the closet she was sharing with the youngest Weasley. Her clothes hung on the right side while Ginny's hung on the left. Not that it mattered much. They were exactly the same size, excuse the single inch that Ginny had on Hermione height-wise. They fit into each others clothes perfectly, and they'd grown quite used to sharing with each other. She pulled out a white peasant- style blouse that her mother had sent her for her birthday the previous September, and she reached into a pile of newly laundered clothes that had not yet been put away and retrieved a pair of denim shorts that had flowers embroidered on the pockets. Sluggishly, she pulled off her pajamas and replaced them with the clothes she'd just picked out. Slipping her feet into a pair of brown sandals, she glanced into the mirror that hung across the room from her. She was surprised at how dark she looked, but she reckoned that spending so much time in the Weasleys backyard reading had naturally tanned her. Her brown hair was falling down her back differently than normal. She was letting it get longer, and as it started growing, it appeared as though some of her curls were getting weighed down, leaving her hair less curly and less bushy than it had been. She liked it, she supposed. It was much easier to tame. With that said, she quickly scooped it up into a loose ponytail.  
  
After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she started down the stairs to face whichever Weasleys would be at the breakfast table. She almost hoped that they would all be gone because she didn't feel like talking to anyone really. The only Weasley children still living at home were Ron, Ginny, and the identical twins Fred and George. Fred and George weren't often there, though, as they had a new store they'd only opened a year before, and it still took a lot of their time.  
  
Her wish of seeing no one did not come true. She was met with the sight of both Ron and Ginny at the breakfast table. Ginny smiled when she entered the kitchen and offered a weak, "Good morning."  
  
Hermione did her best to return the smile and the greeting, but she was sure it sounded as half-hearted as it felt. Ron didn't speak to her; he simply went back to pushing his scrambled eggs around his plate silently. Hermione almost wished that he would say something, anything to make her feel as though he weren't as scared as she was.  
  
It didn't happen.  
  
They sat in silence for many minutes, nibbling mindlessly on the food in front of them. Hermione didn't feel much like eating anymore, and even Ron's appetite had deteriorated greatly in the past few months. It wasn't until the back door opened and Mr. Weasley entered the kitchen that the three teenagers looked up from their plates.  
  
Arthur Weasley was usually a quite jovial man. Most always smiling and in a good mood. Today, however, his face was set in a grim expression, and he definitely looked as though he knew something he didn't want to share with the rest of them.  
  
"What is it, Dad?" Ron finally asked. Hermione could tell he was getting annoyed with waiting.  
  
Mr. Weasley looked at his son and then at the two girls. He sighed softly and sat down at the table beside Ginny. "There's been another attack on a Muggle-born's family."  
  
All three teenagers stared at him expectantly. Ron spoke again, voicing the question that both girls wanted answered. "Who was it?"  
  
Mr. Weasley looked down at then back up nervously. "It was one of your schoolmates."  
  
"Who, Dad?" Ginny raised her eyebrows quickly, imploring her father to tell them whose family had been the target for the latest attack.  
  
Mr. Weasley sighed once again and finally told them. "Dean Thomas."  
  
Hermione felt her stomach drop. She didn't know what to say. Without thinking, she glanced at Ron whose face was looking just as shocked as she was feeling. He spoke quietly when he said, "Is he okay?"  
  
Mr. Weasley just shook his head silently.  
  
Ginny started to cry. Hermione just blinked once before staring into space blankly. Beside her, she heard Ron mutter, "Fuck."  
  
No one scolded him for his language.  
  
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Well? I've already got the next bit written, and I'll post it up if you guys want to see it! PLEASE leave feedback!!!! 


	2. Hitting Home

A/N: Thanks to everyone who left feedback for the last chapter! Hope you guys like this one.  
  
Disclaimer: I own none of it.  
  
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Dean Thomas.  
  
Jesus. What the hell had he ever done? Absolutely nothing. He was just as innocent as everyone else who had fallen, and yet there was something setting him apart from the others.  
  
He was the one that finally hit home.  
  
Dean was the only person that Hermione had personally known to be killed so far. It scared her that she thought of the "so far" part, but she knew it was only logical thinking. Dean was the first, but he wouldn't be the last.  
  
Mr. Weasley had given them the details of the attack after many demands from Ron. Apparently a group of six Death Eaters had tracked his family down on holiday in Dublin. They'd cornered them and killed Dean, his eight year old sister Nattie, and both of their parents. They'd shown no mercy.  
  
Hermione sat looking into the small pond that sat at the back of the woods behind the Weasleys' home. She'd been down there for several hours, she knew. A glance at her watch told her it was nearly three o'clock, and she'd disappeared to the pond directly after leaving the breakfast table. She couldn't take Ginny's crying, and she didn't even want to think about how Ron was handling the news.  
  
Dean was one of his closest friends; they'd been roommates for six years now. Hermione knew that after Harry, Dean was Ron's favorite roommate; she knew how they would engage in long discussions over the high points of both Quidditch and soccer.  
  
She didn't want to face Ron.  
  
But just like every other wish she'd made in the past two years, this one completely backfired. She heard footsteps behind her, and without even turning to glimpse the owner of them, she knew it was Ron. He sat down beside her silently.  
  
Hermione didn't look up- she couldn't force herself to. For a long while, they sat like that- in silence- with her studying the grass below her and Ron throwing small pebbles into the pond, trying to skip them. It was obvious that neither of them knew what to say.  
  
Finally, Ron spoke up. "D'you think Harry's heard?"  
  
Hermione hadn't even wondered about that. Surely, Dumbledore would send word to him somehow; he wouldn't want Harry to find out on the first day of term and be completely shocked. "Probably. Dumbledore's probably told him."  
  
She saw Ron nod from the corner of her eye. "Yeah, you're probably right."  
  
They were silent for another painfully long time until Ron spoke again. "Why Dean? What the hell did he ever do?"  
  
Hermione had been asking herself that very question, and she'd come up with the same answer over and over. She gave it to Ron. "The same thing I did. He dared to be born with magical powers to a pair of Muggles." She said all of this with the utmost bitterness, not caring that she was giving all of her fears away with a single sentence.  
  
She saw Ron turn his head to gaze at her, but she didn't meet his eye. When he started talking, his voice was tinged with angriness. "Don't even talk like that," he told her sharply. "Nothing's going to happen to you."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes slightly and finally turned to look at him. "Ron, be realistic. You know as well as I do that we're not all going to make it out of this."  
  
He still spoke to her angrily. "Just shut up, Hermione."  
  
"Don't tell me to shut up! You know it's true; just admit it! I'm going to die or you're going to die or Harry's going to die… This isn't a Muggle movie where all the brave young heroines make it out okay, and they all go and sing a happy song together in the end!"  
  
Ron looked at her as though he wanted to slap her. He didn't, of course. He just glared dangerously at her. "God, when did you turn into such a bitch?" he asked bitterly.  
  
At this, she wanted to slap him instead. She restrained herself, though, and answered with equal bitterness. "I guess the second I realized I was going to die because of the friends I chose."  
  
Ron gave a disbelieving huff as he stared at her. "Well, I am terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you with my friendship, and I'm sure Harry is as well." His voice was dripping with sarcasm that made Hermione crazy with anger.  
  
Hermione continued to glare at him. "Don't even give me that bullshit." She'd taken to swearing much more often in the past couple of years than she used to. She found it a release of sorts, for some reason.  
  
"You're the one who said it," Ron said irately. "And if it's so bad then why don't you just run away? No one's forcing you to stay, you know? If you want to get away from it all, then just run, Hermione." His voice was almost taunting.  
  
"I can't," Hermione spat out acrimoniously. "If I run, I'll only get myself killed faster."  
  
Ron just stared at her in disbelief. Shaking his head slowly, he said, "I can't believe how selfish you are."  
  
"Selfish?!" Hermione's glower was now more furious than ever. "I'm going to be killed any day now, my parents are in just as much danger as I am, everything I know is about to crumble, and I'm selfish?!" Her voice was raised heatedly, and she jumped to her feet as she talked to tower over him dangerously.  
  
This, of course, didn't last because Ron also jumped to his feet, and the vast height difference left any towering Hermione had done appearing pitiful. "Yes, you are!" His voice was just as loud as hers now. "You're talking about all this stuff that may happen- may, Hermione! Not has! Stuff has already happened! Dean's dead! He's dead, and all you can think of is yourself and your own little sob story!"  
  
Hermione couldn't do anything but glare at him. She was seething with anger and was more than pleased when he turned on his heels and stormed back up through the woods in the direction of his house.  
  
After many moments of just wallowing in her anger, she finally felt tears tugging at the corners of her eyes. But she wasn't going to let him make her cry.  
  
She was done with crying.  
  
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"God damnit!" Ron punched his pillow as he said the words out loud. He'd left Hermione furious and marched back to the house and straight up to his room, locking the door behind him. He needed to punch a lot more than a pillow, but he didn't have too many other options. He continued to punch at it and punch at it and punch at it, getting what aggression he could out of his system.  
  
Dean was fucking dead.  
  
And Hermione…  
  
God, why was she acting like such a spoiled brat?  
  
She'd been acting that way for awhile now, and up until now, he'd just chosen to ignore it. She was going through a difficult time. She hadn't seen her parents in a year, and he knew that she was just as worried about Harry as he was. But still. She was acting like she was the only person on the planet with any fucking problems.  
  
Well, he had a shit load of his own.  
  
And honestly, most of them had to do with her.  
  
As worried as he was about Harry, he was doubled that about Hermione. He didn't know why, but for as long as he'd known her, he'd always had this overwhelming sense of protectiveness over her. He felt that it was his unspoken duty to take care of her and protect her from anything bad. And now he was realizing that there was a rapidly approaching time when he wouldn't be able to protect her from all the evils of the world.  
  
And it was killing him.  
  
And then there was that other huge problem, as well. The one he didn't like to think about. Yeah, didn't like to and didn't were two different things, though. As much as it pained him to think about this problem, it plagued him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.  
  
He was in love with her.  
  
He'd known it for over a year now- since the middle of their fifth year. He'd tried to ignore it at first, pretend that he didn't realize these feelings. Definitely not act on them.  
  
But he couldn't do anything right.  
  
His mind flashed back to the one time he had acted on them. It had been earlier that year in March. They'd been the only two in the Common Room one night; everyone else had already headed off to bed, but they'd been up working on Ron's Transfiguration essay- she'd agreed to help him after a ton of badgering. And while they were sitting on the best sofa in front of the fire, Ron had found himself just staring at her, familiar feelings of want and maybe even need flooding his body as he watched her leaning over his textbook, studying it. She'd felt his stare and looked up to meet his eye curiously.  
  
And then he'd just done it.  
  
He kissed her.  
  
The gasp of shock that escaped from her lips just before his met hers quickly turned into a very soft, very low moan. And she'd kissed him back. He'd never felt anything like that before, and he was sure that he'd died and gone to Heaven.  
  
But then she'd pulled away from him.  
  
He was sure that there were tears glistening in the corners of her eyes as she just stared at him for what seemed like eternity. Suddenly, though, she shook her head and got up, fleeing up the stairs to her dormitory.  
  
The next day, he'd tried to apologize, but she had brushed it aside and never mentioned it since. It was that night, though, that had been the start to the strange awkwardness between them. At first, they'd tried to pretend things were normal, but they weren't. By the time the end of the school year arrived, they were barely speaking to each other.  
  
And, of course, she just had to be living with him.  
  
As though he wasn't plagued by her enough in his thoughts, he had to see her every day without fail. And besides that, this whole summer, she'd been acting so different. And he didn't like it.  
  
He wanted Harry to be there. Harry could always keep the peace between them. If he was there, at least Ron would have someone to talk to. He certainly couldn't talk to Hermione any longer. Especially not now- not after that fight.  
  
Sure, they'd had their rows in the past, but this one had been different. This time was completely serious and not at all like their normal childish anger fits. This was a very long overdue argument that had not resulted well.  
  
Ron was sorry that it had taken something this serious to get them to talk to each other and even more sorry that their talking had resulted in their most earnest fight ever. But she'd been so selfish.  
  
And Dean was dead.  
  
After aiming several more punches at the pillow, Ron threw it onto his bed and smothered his face in it, letting many long-hidden tears soak through the case.  
  
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